


Your Name Written On My Wrist

by 9r7g5h



Series: 1000 Days of Xena [1]
Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: F/F, Name Written on Wrist Soulmate AU, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6715468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9r7g5h/pseuds/9r7g5h
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xena had always known the name of her soulmate. Finding her, however, was a long process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Hey guys! This is my first Xena fanfic! My roommate and I decided to start watching Xena a couple of weeks ago, and we actually just finished season 5, and we're about to start season 6. It's been so much fun so far, and we're super excited. I've fallen in love with the show, big time, so yeah. Maybe expect a couple of fics out of me. Anyway, I hope you guys like this one! This is part one out of two or three! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Xena: The Warrior Princess.

Xena was six when she first asked her mother about the name scrawled across her wrist, letters she had become more then familiar with from the hours staring at them, puzzling over them, wondering at their meaning. She knew what the word was- Cyrene had made sure all her children knew how to read. But it was the meaning behind it that she was curious about. So, when she had been able to finally catch her mother elbow deep in the dough she was kneading for tomorrow’s customers, she asked. 

Cyrene, for her part, had been expecting it. Toris had been about six when he had asked, and Xena was so much like her brother that she had been expecting the question for days. It still threw her, though- how to tell a child such a lovely truth, knowing that it would most likely turn to pain? 

“Do you remember the story about the separation of man, Xena?” 

“Of course,” the child said proudly, sitting on the bench nearby. “There used to be creatures with four arms, four legs, two heads, and two hearts. Zeus, fearing the power of these creatures, split them in half, so each person only had half of the form they once were. Thus, humans were fated to walk the earth alone, looking for their other half. Teacher told us that story in school.”

“Well,” Cyrene said, drawing out the vowel to give herself time to think, “many of the gods thought that life too cruel. The gods are immortal- they have all the time in the world to find their other halves. Mortals, meanwhile, are short lived. Only a few decades, a century if you’re lucky, and then Hades claims you for either Tartarus or the Fields. So…” She paused, wiping her flour and dough covered hands on her apron so she could fully turn to face her child. “So the gods, led by Aphrodite herself, forced Zeus to give the mortals hope.” 

Cyrene held out her wrist, smiling as Xena held out her own, both presenting the name most precious to them to each other. 

“When each person is born,” Cyrene continued, sitting next to Xena and wrapping her arm around the girl’s shoulders, “they are born with the name of their soulmate, their other half, written on their wrist. This way, they can grow up knowing the name of the one they must ask for, and when they’ve found their soulmate, they know, right away, that their search is done. This way, humans have a chance at finding their true other half, without as much fuss and muss that would be needed if we didn’t have them.” 

Reaching out, Xena took Cyrene’s hand in between her own, turning the appendage until she could get a better look at the name etched into her skin. Tracing the letters, it was after a long moment of silence that Xena spoke up again, her voice quiet and small. 

“If Daddy was your soulmate, why did he leave?”

“Just because someone is your soulmate, doesn’t mean they’re perfect for you, Xena,” Cyrene said, perhaps a little too harshly, as she pushed herself back to her feet and returned to the bread. “Maybe once they were, right after Zeus separated the two halves, but times have changed. People are selfish, greedy, angry creatures. Many are loving and kind,” she quickly backpedaled, “but everyone has their baggage. Your father, unfortunately, was one of them.” 

“Did he love you?” 

“He did, as best as he could,” Cyrene confirmed, “and I loved him. And he gave me three lovely children. But even though our souls were two halves of the same whole, we just weren’t meant to be.” 

For a couple of minutes the two didn’t speak. Cyrene, hoping that was the end of the conversation, at least for now, returned to her bread. With almost all the rooms filled, breakfast would be a busy affair the next morning, and she wanted to have enough for everyone. It was a long, sticky chore, one she couldn’t get done if she had to keep stopping for her child every few minutes. 

And the last thing she wanted to think about was the soulmate she had killed with an axe to protect the child currently talking to her. 

“How do you find your soulmate?” 

“How else? By looking.” 

“Mother…” 

“Some people are luckier than others,” Cyrene finally said, forcing her voice to soften from a growl of annoyance into something normal. “Their soulmates are born into the same town as them, they grow up in the same area, and they eventually run into each other one day. That’s the most common way for soulmates to meet.” Pausing to wipe the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, she glanced over her shoulder at Xena. 

The girl was listening intently, her thumb absentmindedly rubbing the name at her wrist- an old family habit, one all of her children had picked up from her, for when they were deep in thought. 

“Others,” Cyrene continued, setting the ball of dough she had been working on off to the side for another, “have to work for it. The world is a big place, my love, and there are many people within it. Sometimes soulmates are born oceans apart, and they have to search for each other. These are the ones the stories are written about. That’s how your father and I met.” 

“You’ve told me,” Xena said, speaking for the first time in a while. “He was a wandering traveler who stopped by the inn one night in the middle of a storm. He heard that this inn was run by the prettiest woman in the whole city, and he had to see for himself. He did- he fell in love at first sight, and stayed with you.” 

“That’s the gist of it,” Cyrene said with a dry laugh. There was no point in telling the child the entire truth- he had come to stay, alright, but only because some other tavern owner had, in trying to ruin her reputation, told him she was the easiest bedmate in all of Greece, if you had the right coin. He had come to buy her warmth for the night, only to find himself almost impaled on a kitchen knife for asking. 

The hand holding the knife had been the same with his name, and the first word out of his mouth after she had attacked him had been hers, whispered almost like a prayer. 

He had gotten what he was looking for that night, free of charge, and nine months later they had Toris. Having found her, and finding out about her delicate condition a few weeks later, he had decided to stay, putting up his sword for the life of an inn owner with his soulmate and bastard son. 

At least they got married before Xena came along, but only just. 

“So does everyone find their soulmate,” Xena asked, staring down at the name on her wrist. “If they’re not born into your village, if you look hard enough, will everyone find theirs?” 

“No,” Cyrene said. It was the truth, and she refused to blatantly lie to her child. Mislead, maybe, fudge the facts a bit, of course. But outright lie? That did nothing but hurt the future, and she refused to jeopardize her relationship with her girl. 

“Well, why not?” 

“Because the Fates are cruel, Xena.” Piling a few mounds of well beaten dough onto a pan, Cyrene slid them onto the highest shelf, ready to be baked when she awoke at dawn. “People can die. It’s much more common to find your soulmate’s grave then to find them alive, especially with how the world is today. Sometimes people are born at the wrong time, because the world needs them for something else. I’ve seen men travel for years, only to find their soulmate sucking from their mother’s teat while they’ve gone gray. Like with your father and I, sometimes soulmates aren’t meant to be- they find each other, but they don’t last. And sometimes you just miss. Sometimes they’re standing right there, right next to each other, but their eyes never meet, and they never know. One goes left while the other goes right on the exact same street, missing by a hair’s breath. But in that situation, a hair’s breathe might as well be an ocean.” 

“What do those people do? If their soulmate’s dead, or they can’t find them?” 

“They turn to Aphrodite,” Cyrene said as she bustled about, making another batch of dough to rise for the bread she would need to make for the day after tomorrow. “There’s a reason the Goddess of Love exists when everyone has their soulmate chosen for them at birth.” She smiled to herself, finally happy with the direction the conversation had taken. 

She hoped that her children would find their soulmates, but she didn’t want them walking away from this conversation thinking that was the only way they could find happiness. Toris had gotten to this point in the talk much quicker- she was glad to finally impart the same knowledge on Xena. 

“Even without your soulmate, Xena, you have to understand that life can be amazing. You can meet someone nice, someone who falls in love with you as best as they can, and you can live a life worth something. Aphrodite helps, leading those who can’t find their soulmates to their next greatest love, and sometimes the next greatest is the best.” 

“I’m going to wait,” Xena said, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at her wrist. 

“Wait until what?” 

“What until I’m an adult. Then, if she hasn’t been born into Amphipolis yet, I’m going to go find her. I’ll find her, and we’ll be the most perfect soulmates to ever exist. People will sing songs of our love, and we’ll be one of the greatest stories ever.” 

Pushing herself up from the bench she had been sitting on, standing tall, her eyes narrowed in determination and her chin jutted out proudly, as if daring the world to defy her, Xena held out her hand so the name on her wrist was clearly seen. 

“Other people might be content with someone who’s not their true love. Other people might let their love fall apart, and their soulmate go. But me? Well, I’m gonna be the best soulmate in the world, and Gabrielle, whoever she is, is gonna be the best too. We’ll be the best together, and nothin’s gonna change that. Just you wait and see, Mother.” 

“I’m sure I will,” Cyrene giggled, trying to keep both the full blown laughter and the overwhelming desire to cry to herself. “Now, go see if Toris needs any help with the firewood, ok? Or if Lyceus’ awake from his nap. Just go do something useful so I can get this bread finished.” 

Xena nodded and ran off, towards the outer doors, where her older brother was stacking wood. But not before stopping, in plain view of the kitchen, to place a quick kiss to her wrist and whisper “I’ll find you, Gabrielle, one day. That’s a promise.” Before Cyrene could comment on it, Xena was gone. 

And Cyrene had to work hard to make sure her laughter didn’t upset the bowl of flour and eggs she was working with, or that the tears streaming down her face made the dough too salty. 

“I hope you do, sweetheart,” she whispered to herself. “I hope you do.” 

***********

Xena was sixteen when she had her first true brush with the love soulmates could feel. Not through herself, though she desperately wanted to find the girl whose name was emblazed on her skin. No, it was, in fact, much to her and Toris’ great chagrin, through fourteen-year-old Lyceus, who had met his love in the market. 

It was a stroke of great luck, they all agreed. The girl, only two years younger than Ly, had been born to a set of wheat farmers, the same people Cyrene bought her flour from. With their farm only half an hour outside of city limits, it was almost amazing that the two hadn’t run into each other before, though it made sense. Cyrene generally left her younger two to tend to the inn when she needed to run her errands, taking Toris with her to carry the basket. Or Xena, when Toris was running off with his friends. But either configuration of basket holder, Lyceus had always been left to manage the inn, make sure no brawls broke out and the linens were fresh in each room, tasks a boy his age could handle. 

But for this trip Xena had disappeared as well as Toris, running off with some of her friends- a rougher group then Cyrene would have liked, but no one too dangerous, and so the inn had been closed for the afternoon and Lyceus had accompanied her. 

To say it was obvious the moment it happened would have been an understatement. The moment the two children’s eyes had locked over the miller’s stall, several things had happened at once, making it more than clear to everyone what was going on: 

Lyceus, in all his graceful boyish charm, had dropped the basket full of goods, spilling almost twelve dinars worth of supplies into the mud and the muck. 

Linsa, the poor girl, had jerked her hands apart so quickly she had torn the bag of flour she had been holding, covering herself and her father in thick white powder. 

And both of them, at the same exact time, had said the other’s name, soft as a prayer, but louder than any scream could have been for those paying attention. 

“It was like I had been thrown into the center of Hephaestus’ forge, stabbed through the gut with Ares’ own sword, impaled with Artemis and Athena’s golden and silver arrows, trampled by Apollo’s chariot, and zapped by Zeus’ great lightning bolt all at the same time,” Lyceus said the moment the all four of them were home, Xena and Toris having rushed back as soon as they heard the news through the grape vine to get there at the same time as Cyrene and him. “It was as if, the moment I saw her, this great, unbearable pain spread through me, and she was the only one who could stop it. And the moment our hands touched…” 

He sighed, leaning back against the wall, a love struck grin wide on his face as he replayed the moment their fingers had brushed before Cyrene had pulled him back and Linsa’s father had snatched her away. 

“It was as if I was in the Elysian Fields, and nothing could be more perfect. And now she’s gone.” 

His face crumpled into tears as he slid down the wall, either unknowing or uncaring of Toris’ touch as he howled for his lost love. 

“Why’d you stop them, Mom,” Xena asked, livid for her brother. She had heard the whole thing from the friend that had come to get her- Cyrene had snatched up the basket in one hand, grabbed Ly by the ear with the other, and had hauled him away while Linsa’s father had done the same to her, almost bodily throwing her into the carriage before setting off for home, leaving the farm hand to tend the stall. An overall awful display for two soulmates who had found each other, especially from Cyrene, who had always been so supportive of them all finding their own someday. 

“Because of that,” Cyrene said, motioning towards the sobbing boy. “It’s bad enough that they touched after the first meeting- if I had left them, they would have probably been making out in the middle of the street, or worse! You have to understand, Xena,” she continued as she swept into the kitchen, her daughter at her heels, “that the first contact is the hardest for soulmates. Everything within them calls for the other, longs to touch and be touched, and it’s the hardest thing to resist. You know Toris is a bastard, he’s living proof of how little control newly met soulmates have! Now, if it had been you and your Gabrielle, or even Toris and his Selene, then I would have left things well enough alone, but Ly is a child, and that girl is even younger than he is. Would you have left them alone?”

“No, of course not,” Xena replied, “but there’s still the fact that Lyceus is sobbing in the middle of the tavern as if you just stabbed his favorite dog. How are you going to fix that?” 

“With this,” Cyrene sighed gratefully as she found the pouch she had been searching for, holding it up for her daughter to see. “Your grandmother used to make me drink this whenever there was a chance I would meet someone new, just in case they were my soulmate. This dulls the senses, gives the body time to get used to the first shock of meeting, and lets you keep some control over yourself. It works just as well after the first contact. We’ll make it into a tea, get Ly to drink it, and then tomorrow, when he’s calmed down a bit, the two of us will go out to the farm. We’ll talk to the girl and her parents, see what they all have to say. Now get some water boiling. I want this in him before he becomes dehydrated.” 

Two cups of tea later, and Ly had calmed down, at least enough for Toris to help him to his feet and carry him off to bed. He was still a mess- a hiccupping, uncoordinated mess, but his feet had stayed under him, he had kissed Xena and Cyrene good night (disgusting, wet, snotty kisses, but kisses nonetheless), and the stairs hadn’t proven too much of a problem with Toris there to help. But at least he was a mess that didn’t risk choking on his own tongue every few minutes, something they all were grateful for. 

“You’re really going to take him to the farm tomorrow,” Xena asked when he was gone, helping her mother organize the kitchen for the next day’s rush. 

“Yes, after I get him to drink a pot of tea. Hopefully a whole stomach full will keep him calm, and if he’s calm, she should be too. We’ll have to keep an eye on them in the coming years,” Cyrene said with a grin and a shake of her head, “but hopefully between me and her parents, we can come up with a plan that keeps those two happy and us from becoming grandparents before our time.” 

The next day was almost torture for Xena and Toris. They had been left in charge of the inn, Cyrene and Lyceus tucked away in the little cart drawn by their single horse to go visit the farm, despite their insistence on going with them. Cyrene had shut them down, and as if the Fates were intervening, the inn was crowded. Everywhere they looked, wherever they turned, there was someone new ordering food or drink or a room, everyone talking about yesterday’s events and the excitement of a pair of souls finding each other. 

No chance for the two of them to sneak away and run to the farm, no chance to even sit and talk between each other about the events happening with their younger brother, just people and people and more people, until finally Xena threw out the last drunk and Toris led the last customer to their room, allowing them to shut down the inn for the night. 

Then they sat and waited, even though it was long in the night, for their mother and brother to get home. 

Home they eventually did, and when they did, the first thing out of Lyceus’ mouth was “I’m getting married.” 

“When Linsa turns eighteen,” Cyrene clarified as she shrugged off her cloak, sending Lyceus to put away the horse and cart in the stables behind the inn. “The two of them are allowed to visit each other on the weekends, supervised of course, and when Linsa turns eighteen, if they still want each other, then they’ll get married the fall of that year. But not a moment before, and if a baby shows up, then she’s being shipped off to the Hestian Virgins and he’s getting castrated. No arguments, no excuses, and everyone’s happy.” 

Happy they were. Lyceus, seemingly unconcerned with the threat hanging over his little head, spent the entire rest of the night talking about his love, wishing with all his heart that one day his siblings would find what he had. Toris and Xena agreed- they were happy for him, even with the twinge of bitterness that they had to fight from seeping into their tones. 

(None of them knew in two short years, their home would be under attack. None of them knew that Toris would flee, Xena would pick up her sword, and, accompanied by Lyceus and a small group of boys, just boys for the men had fled, she would defend her home from the raiders. None of them knew the death rate her choice would have- almost all except her, somehow left alive and mostly unharmed, despite having the most blood on her sword. None of them knew Toris would flee once again, this time from the death of his brother, that Cyrene would claim her daughter had died in the same fight her son had while turning her away, and that Xena would be told, in no unclear terms, that she wasn’t welcomed back home. 

None of them knew Xena would happily leave, because the hate she could stand. She could stand the glares, the comments, the obvious crude gestures sent her way when before there was only kindness and love from the people in her town. Xena could stand that. 

She couldn’t stand the heart wrenching cries Linsa let out when Lyceus had been carried home, the ones that still echoed from the cave he had been put to rest in, and she couldn’t stand the fact that her little brother was dead because of her. 

None of them knew.)

For the entire night they laughed and joked and teased, Toris and Xena calling each other ‘Aunt’ and ‘Uncle’ to make Cyrene go pale, only for her to laugh when they ran from the dish towel she snapped at them. They drank and they ate and they laughed, just honestly happy. 

And all the while, Xena rubbed her thumb over the name on her wrist, and once again made her promise to find her, one day. 

*******

For her first year as a warlord, she looked. 

All of her men knew not to kill without warrant- men who stood up to them, any who tried to defy them, they could be cut down without a second glance. But any who surrendered, any who stood aside and let them do what they wanted? They were to be spared, for two reasons- the first, and most important, was so they could spread word of their deeds. How were they supposed to become a feared and respected army if no one was alive to say who conquered them?

But the second was so all of the living’s wrists could be presented to her, so she could see if her name resided among them. 

It just made sense, in a way. Her soulmate was a weakness- someone who could be found and used against her. But if Xena found her first, brought her into the army, taught her how to fight, how to defend herself, kept her safely surrounded by loyal men who would follow her into Tartarus and back? 

Well, how could that be a weakness? 

Once, she almost thought she saw it, a four letter name with three of them right that she caught from the corner of her eye, drawing her up short. But the ‘X’ she thought she had seen was instead a ‘L,’ and part of her was relieved- the child was only seven, maybe eight at the most, and the idea of a soulmate eleven, almost twelve years younger than her? No, thank you. 

So, for the first year she looked. 

Until she met Caesar. Met him, seduced him, trusted that he could hold up his end of the deal and they would work together to rule the world. Until her trust was betrayed, most of her men cut down around her while she stood there, helpless, just watching the world she had spent the last year building crumble into dust at her feet. 

Until, while his men were tying her to the cross to be crucified, he stopped to talk to her. 

“It’s a shame you never found your soulmate,” he said casually, coolly, his own name covered by the metal bracers he wore. “I might have actually used a nail on the strumpet instead of rope. It might have been a little lopsided, but with a giant ‘X’ like that on her wrist, marking the spot? It would have been hard to resist.” 

She had searched until that moment, and as the hammer made contact with her legs, she was glad she had never found the girl. 

At first she had been glad that Gabrielle had been spared- spared the pain, the death, everything that was bringing her short life to a pitiful end. A pitiful end she almost wished for as she was cut down and taken to the healer, for that at least would have ended the pain instead of forcing her to endure. 

But as she rose again, M’lila dead at her feet, her legs set and numb from the pressure points, Xena was glad she had never found her soulmate all over again, for a very different reason. 

She was glad she never found that Gabrielle, for it would have just been one more body covering the floor, one more bloodstain she would have had to clean off her sword, and she didn’t have time for that. If she wanted to fulfill the burning in her chest, destroy the world with her own two hands, she didn’t have time for soulmates. 

They were nothing more than a weakness, and if she ever did find the girl, she’d make sure that weakness no longer existed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hey guys! Here is part 2 of 'Your Name Written On My Wrist'! Hopefully this is a good follow up for you all and you enjoy it! Part 3, which will be the final piece of this work, should be out soon. It'll probably be a bit shorter then these last two parts, but it'll also be the payoff to this whole build up, so hopefully it's worth it. Alright now, enough of my blabbering. Enjoy!

“She died when I was fifteen,” Borias said one night, answering a question Xena never asked. “We had had a bad year, horrible harvests, and the winter was harsh. No way for hunters to get in or get out of the village. Most left their dead in the alleyways, under the snow, for the spring thaw to come. When it did, a group of us were chosen to sweep the city, to find those who had perished so they could be buried.” 

Not that Xena cared- Borias was the current recognized leader of their army, a heater that kept her bed and the space between her legs warm, but not much more than that. She didn’t care about the sad soulmate story he had for her- most of their men had them as well. But she listened, didn’t interrupt; any weakness he gave now could be used against him later, so she might as well gather the intel when he was so freely offering it. 

“I found her by the city gates, frozen, curled around a pile of wooden sticks she had tried to set fire to. The moment I saw her, I just knew. And then she was buried. Gone. All I know about her was her name.” 

He flashed her his wrist, too quickly for her to really read what it said. But, again, not that she really cared. 

“I guess it was a good thing, in the end,” he said with a shrug when Xena didn’t respond. “If I had been married to her, instead of the wife I left for you, I might never have been able to leave. Her or my son. And yet, here I am.”

“Here you are.” 

“And what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Well,” Borias said slowly, “you have a name on your wrist, don’t you? Do not deny it, I have seen it. And yet, instead of being curled into bed with the lovely owner of said name, you are here with me. So, what happened to her? Who was she, if you know?”

“She was a cutie,” Xena said, the lie falling from her lips easily. No one had ever asked her about the name, just making assumptions she was happy to let them make, but still, the lie came as easily as if she had told it a hundred times. “Brown hair, brown eyes, short little thing. Barely came up to my chest. She was the daughter of the leader of a town my first army and I raided, early on.” 

Easy lies, ones no one would ever be able to confirm or deny. Just the way she liked it. 

“And what happened to this leader’s daughter? This, ah…” Reaching out, Borias flipped her wrist so he could read the name scrawled there. “This Gabrielle?” 

“We saw each other, I took over her father’s house, we fucked to get over the first meeting hormones, and then I killed her.” 

Easy. Matter of fact. Words she was sure Borias didn’t believe, not for a single moment, but from the gasps coming from outside her tent from the guards posted there, it was clear someone did. Good. The more people feared her, the better. And who was more terrifying then someone who had literally killed the other half of their soul? 

“Xena, you didn’t.” Borias teased, nudging her to get her to tell the truth. “I bet this girl is happy and alive somewhere, just waiting for you to return.” 

“Return to check and see how her bones are doing, maybe,” Xena replied casually. “Slid my knife into her heart, held her in my arms as she bled out, kissed her eyelids so she’d sleep, and that was that. You forget, Borias,” she continued, making her voice go harsh, “that love is a weakness. Affection, friendship, anything deeper then what we’ve got as fuck buddies is nothing more than a weakness. I found my soulmate, and because she was a weakness, I got rid of her.” 

Whether or not he believed her, Xena couldn’t really care. For the next day, it was clear everyone else did- the story had spread quicker than a wild fire started with Greek fire, and all around, she could hear mutterings. Sometimes the story was true, other times grossly exaggerated, the details almost making her wince with pity for this fake soulmate she had killed. 

Perfect. For as the story was spread and told, it had just the effect she wanted. Some hated her even more- what kind of monster killed the literal other half to their soul? Others loved her- what a leader, to kill the other half of her soul to make sure no one could use it against her. Most feared her- who dare stand up against the woman, even one with two crippled legs who needed a staff to get anywhere fast, when she destroyed her own soul like that? 

But whatever their opinion of her, they all respected her, and they all obeyed. 

Sometimes, she was sure even Borias believed her. There was a look in his eyes sometimes, just before he started pestering her about the death, where she was sure he didn’t. They were inquiries that she easily fended off- a well-placed kiss here, a whispered demand of “Fuck me” that he couldn’t deny, easy little things that turned him from his questions. 

But those few, when she could see the questions in his gaze before adverting them with a mixture of disgust and desire, she was sure he believed her. 

She wasn’t sure which she liked better, but oh well. 

It didn’t matter, in the long run, whether or not he did. All she needed from him was his half of the army, and once she had it? He and his opinions could suck it. 

*****

Lao Ma, without her ever saying a single word, knew. 

She was like that with a lot things- just by watching, waiting, she could gather together all the threads and spin the story together like a tapestry. A detail might be wrong, here or there, the result of weaving blind, but overall her results were almost perfect to the truth. 

Even with Xena, for once in her life, almost happy to give details about herself to the woman, it still took Lao Ma two weeks to ask about the name of the brother that had died, and another month to ask about her mother. Whether it was because she was waiting for Xena to be ready to answer or because it took her that long to find the questions to ask, Xena wasn’t, and in all honesty, couldn’t be sure. Lao Ma was as much a mystery to her as the true will of (most) the gods, and Xena was sure she always would be. 

But part of her was almost entirely sure that it was the former, not the latter, that kept Lao Ma from speaking, something Xena was grateful for. She would spill herself to this woman if she but ask, but Xena was glad for the chance to wait. 

Though sometimes she just wished Lao Ma would hurry up and ask already. 

“Why do you lie about killing your soulmate?” 

“Who says I do?”

Silently, Lao Ma just sat there, watching Xena with that stare of hers- not angry, not amused, just blank, waiting. The woman knew the warrior well enough by now to know that was all it would take to get her to talk. 

Xena did, eventually. She just shrugged one of her shoulders and looked away, down at her toes, watching them wiggle freely- a sensation she hadn’t had in a while. 

“I dunno. It’s just one of those thing, yah know? You see warlords all around, each with their little army, and they all have that weakness. Their wives, their kids, their whores, their favorite horse- at least the horse can fight back. But they become soft for their soulmates, want to put their happiness above everything else. And when you want to take over the world?” Xena half shrugged again. “Well, it’s just better not to have those arrow holes in your armor. Telling people I killed her makes them fear me, take away the extra bit of danger, and even keeps her safe, wherever she is.” 

“I wasn’t aware that you cared about her.” 

“I don’t,” Xena said quickly, lest Lao Ma think otherwise. And for once she was telling the truth. She hadn’t thought about the owner of the name on her wrist in a long time- she had almost forgotten she had it, and would have, had this conversation not taken its current turn. It was becoming like her scars, like the mass of freckles that covered her shoulders in the summer; a part of her body that was there, a non-important decoration that she really didn’t care about. 

She had better things to do then moon over some stranger like she had when she was young. And Xena was still determined to kill her the moment she saw her, to truly end the risk to herself. But until she found the girl, Xena really couldn’t make herself care. 

“You care whether or not she lives or dies.” 

Again, Xena shrugged. “She’s never done anything to me. I’ll kill her if I ever find her, but if I never do, may she grow fat and happy with someone else. Though,” she said slowly, the words trailing off, “with the amount of luck I’ve seen soulmates have, she’s probably dead by now. One half of all the other pairs I’ve ever met are.” 

Lao Ma didn’t respond. Instead she just reached out and took Xena’s hand, pulling it into her lap so she could read the name inked onto her skin. Her fingers ever so lightly traced the letters, her lips silently forming each one to herself as she did so. 

And for the first time in her life, Xena hated the owner of the name on her wrist, because that person wasn’t Lao Ma. 

For Lao Ma she could have tried. Could have tried to put aside the hate and the pain and the bloodlust for the rest of her life, just like she had for those few, precious nights. Could have tried to follow her path, could have tried to find her way into the peace and calm Lao Ma was always talking about. Could have tried to be better, if only because Lao Ma was the only one she wanted to be better for. 

But ‘Lao Ma’ wasn’t the name on her wrist, and Xena wasn’t on hers- she barely knew any Chinese, but from the few characters she had picked up during her time with Lao Ma, she could guess that the name on Lao Ma’s wrist was not hers. She had always known- they had touched so many times, during training and during their healing sessions, and not once had she felt anything like what Lyceus had described. But it could have, and for Lao Ma, Xena would have been willing to try. 

But instead they had different names on their wrists, different other halves of their souls somewhere out in the world, and Xena honestly hated it. Hated that some other woman was fated to her, someone she would never even meet and had sworn to kill the moment she did; someone she didn’t care about, someone she didn’t want to try for. 

As if Lao Ma could read her mind, a moment later the older woman was leaning over, pressing her lips in a quick kiss to Xena’s wrist, her mouth lingering for the single moment it took for her to feel Xena’s pulse begin to race through her skin. Then she sat back tall, offering Xena a small smile she knew she needed. 

“You’ll find this girl, this Gabrielle, one day, Xena, I’m sure of it. You’ll find her, and she’ll be your everything. Your light, your source, your drive to do good- everything that you want me to be that I can’t.” 

“Yeah, right. What,” Xena asked snarkily, rolling her eyes and yanking her hand away. “Can those mystical powers of yours show you the future now? Because even that I have to doubt, Lao Ma.”

“It’s nothing quite so mystical,” Lao Ma replied in a tone that made Xena think she was lying, though the warrior woman had no way to prove it. “I just have my hopes for you, and my faith that they will come true.” 

“Maybe, but I doubt it,” Xena said with a shrug. “Only you can see the good left in a warlord like me, and most of me thinks you’re just full of it.” Returning her gaze- which had lifted itself without her permission from her toes to Lao Ma’s face- back to her feet, Xena just bit the inside of her cheek and waited. 

“We should do another healing session on your legs,” Lao Ma said after a few moments, as if their conversation had never happened. “They’re doing well, but they could be doing better. They’re almost healed, and I would hate to leave them half finished. Come along, Xena, to the room.” 

Xena pushed herself to her feet and followed after, not daring to say another word. Partly to keep herself from saying anything that might anger the woman more- and she was angry, Xena could tell, just keeping it to herself- and partly because she knew, if she opened her mouth, she would regret what she had to say. 

(Leaving was hard, harder than she could have imagined, but so utterly easy too. The trick was to make yourself not care, to focus on the wrong done to you- in this case, Lao Ma protecting the sniveling little brat instead of siding with her and Borias. And clearly the woman was delusional. Xena was grateful to her for healing her legs, for showing her the great power that Xena would one day possess, and would always owe her the largest of debts. But all that bull about her soulmate and her being good and all that crap? 

Clearly, Lao Ma had no clue what she was talking about. Maybe in a few years, when the brat was full grown and she stopped feeling like she had to protect him, Lao Ma would see things their way. And Xena could come visit her then. But for now, best to let the debt lie and let the woman sit in her dreams.)

*****

Alti had no name. 

It was almost like the shamaness was proud that she didn’t have one- she often stood with both wrists pointed towards whoever she was facing, exposing the clean, unmarked skin. It wasn’t the first thing people noticed about her, but it was often the one that set them most at unease. 

Because she wasn’t a whole soul, one of those lucky few who had escaped Zeus’ wrath when he had split humanity all those eons ago. Those people were lucky- one form, two souls born together, already complete within their own skin without someone else to make them so. It was easy to spot those people, to feel the calm, the self-love that rolled from their skin, knowing they were already together, their soulmate waiting for them inside. 

Xena had always envied the few she had met, for even on the receiving end of her blade, they hadn’t feared death. “I’m not going alone,” one had told her, her smile soft and eyes slightly unfocused, “so why be scared?” 

Alti was broken. Her movements, her words, her very way of holding herself screamed that. Something was missing, and replacing it was a power, too terrible and terrifying to try and describe. She seemed proud of her brokenness, showing the jagged edges to any who dared to look, just waiting for them to turn against her. 

(None of them knew. How could they? Even the strongest of shamans couldn’t have known, couldn’t have seen, couldn’t make out the reason why Alti was so broken so deep inside. Why her wrist was bare, despite being only a half. 

Even in the spirit world, there could be secrets, and had they known? Had they known that Alti was broken because she made herself that way, spending her time between lives searching for the remains of her soulmate, slaughtering them before they could enter the womb, absorbing piece after piece of light to fuel her darkness, they would have killed her at birth. They would have killed her and followed her soul into the spirit world, hunted her down like she did her soulmate, and slaughtered her soul before it could be reborn, ending her cycle. Ending her quest for power. 

She couldn’t let that happen. Not that it mattered, though, not really. The remains of her soulmate were almost nothing, just a few fragments that flickered at the edge of her consciousness- the rest was her darkness, her power, her gift that she so _graciously_ shared with the Warrior Princess. 

Soon, within a life or two, she would destroy the last risk to her soul and her powers. As it were, the remains were hardly enough to live much after birth, but she wanted her soulmate gone. 

One less weakness that so many mistook as strength. But soon it would be gone for good, and then nothing would stand in her way. 

Nothing. 

So she flaunted her brokenness, showed her wrists to startle any why came near, because that brokenness was power, and their fear just more fuel to her flame.)

It was this power that drew her, drew Xena into Alti’s web. Her words were right, hitting every point Lao Ma had brushed upon. 

“Your soulmate will destroy you, Destroyer of Nations,” she had whispered into Xena’s ear many times. Of course, she knew Xena’s lie- there were no lies in the spirit realm. Twisted truths, Alti once told her, for the way people perceived themselves and their actions differed from soul to soul, but still truths nonetheless. And as much as Xena told the lie, she couldn’t twist it into her own truth. “She’ll destroy you more than that child growing inside of you will. She’ll take you from your rightful path, destroy everything you hold, and kill you over and over and over again. You should find her, Destroyer, and kill her before she can.” 

Everything Alti said was right- the name on her wrist had been nothing more than a burden, and were she to be rid of its owner, it would be for the better. But first, first she needed the power Alti promised her. The power she spoke of, day in and day out as they made their plans, set their traps, lured in the unsuspecting fools that would help them. 

Borias hated Alti, spoke often of her evil, but Xena ignored him. Alti had what she wanted, and she was going to get it. 

It wasn’t hard. Kill a young Amazon, wait for the leaders to gather, slaughter them like the sheep they were-it all fell in line easily. Alti claimed her blood, and with a wave of her hand, gave Xena her next task: 

The Ixion Stone. 

“Find the stone,” Alti had whispered into her ear the night before she and Borias were due to turn the army away, back towards Greece and home, so she could give birth to her child and send Borias off. The men were already turning against him- they could see he was going soft, and many wanted to kill him and be done with it. But Xena had spared him; he was someone willing and able to take the child she was carrying off her hands so she could fulfill the destiny Alti had promised, the world at her feet and the title of Destroyer of Nations a crown upon her head. Something she couldn’t do with a kid at her hip. 

It wouldn’t be long now- within a month, at the latest, the army would be hers and hers alone. Then another four, and she would be free. 

“Find the stone,” Alti reminded her, “and you’ll be one step closer to fulfilling your destiny. I’ll come to you in your sleep, whisper the dreams you need to hear, and together we’ll bring about your destiny.” 

Alti never did appear in her dreams, nor did she ever find the stone. She gave birth to a son, watched Borias die, gave the child away before she could even determine whose eyes he had been born with- events that quickly became memories with the light of the following dawn. 

Her heart hurt- hurt for the man she had once considered a companion, even if she hadn’t been able to return his love; hurt for the child she was leaving behind in the care of the centaurs; hurt for herself and the pain she knew was in her future, though that was the lesser of the wounds. At least she had her destiny, her revenge, her anger and her drive to keep her going. That was enough. 

And for a single moment, between hurting and whipping her men back together, rebuilding her once proud army from the dregs remaining, turning them into the war machine that would sweep across Greece, she hurt for the name on her wrist. Not for the owner, no- she didn’t care, not any longer. She had a destiny to fulfill, and if Alti wasn’t going to help like she had promised, then Xena would do it her own way. Including making her own decisions about the potential threats to her campaign. 

No, she didn’t hurt for the owner of the name- she hurt the child she had once been, proclaiming her heart to a stranger, ignoring everything else. She hurt for the girl she had once been. 

But only for a moment. Only for a single moment before the warlord burned back through her, pushing away the hurt, the pain, the fear and anger and sadness, leaving nothing more than one, single desire: 

Become the Destroyer of Nations, one way or another. 

*****

She went by many titles in Poteidaia. While all of the parents had agreed not to speak her true one, not to say her name lest it cause one of their own pain, none of them had ever been able to come up with one they could all agree upon. 

Some called her The Warrior Princess, claiming that was how she was best known, thus that was how they should know her. Others called her Destroyer of Nations, or Destroyer for short. That was what she was doing, they argued, destroying city after city, town after town, conquering half the world in the few short years since she had built her army, gained the favor of Ares, become the mighty warlord they all knew and feared. Destroyer fit. But still others called her Conqueror, for one day she would conquer the world, force Rome and Brittana and even mighty Egypt and Chin to bow before her, so why not get used to her title now? 

No matter the title, the children of Poteidaia knew who their parents were talking about. Knew of the nameless warlord the adults were too scared to name. Knew of her body count, knew of the rumors and stories, and knew the fear that settled deep inside their bones of her. 

It was worst for Hecuba and Herodutus, in a way. They knew the woman’s name, had known it for years, and every day had to see it scribed on the inside of their daughter’s wrist. 

At least they had a plan. 

“This will destroy her, you know,” Hecuba said tiredly, leaning against the farm wall as she watched her husband work. It was late, long past the hour they normally went to sleep, but there was much to do if they wanted their scheme to work. “I honestly don’t know if she’ll be able to recover from this.” 

“I would rather see the light leave our daughters’ eyes then have her become the whore of a warlord,” Herodutus said stubbornly, his jaw set as he worked. “Or worse, dead because of her. You’ve heard the rumors, that warlords are starting to kill their soulmates when they find them, to reduce their weaknesses. Would you really rather have Gabrielle in that sort of danger?” 

“You know as well as I do that rumor started because the Destroyer supposedly killed her soulmate years ago, and the others are now taking after her! How do you know that rumor’s a lie, and the Xena who’s written on our daughter’s wrist isn’t in some far off country?” Hecuba asked, pushing herself from the wall to pace besides her husband. “Even if the Destroyer is the right one, why don’t we just tell her that? That we talked to an Oracle or someone, found out that her soulmate was in Egypt or Greece or some other far away land and send her there? At least she’ll be safe, and have her hope.”

“For two days,” Herodutus scoffed, rolling his eyes, “before a group of bandits found and slaughtered her like a sacrificial lamb. No,” he said, unknowningly cutting off whatever Hecuba had been about to say, “this is the only way. Besides…” His hands paused their work, slowly twirling the tool in his hands between his fingers, his gaze turning blurred as he stared out the window that stood over his work bench. “Besides, you know just as well as I do, Hecuba, if we do that, we’ll never see her again.” Turning towards his wife, he caught one of her hands between his own, raising it to his lips so he could place a gentle kiss against her fingers. “All I want is for us, the four of us, to be together. Together and at least content. You understand that, right?” 

They were not soulmates. They had been childhood friends, and when they had reached adulthood, with the chances of trying to find their soulmate so slim, they had decided to settle with someone they already knew and cared for. Though ‘settled’ was, perhaps, too strong of a word. They loved each other, they truly did, and the knowledge that they both had someone else out there, someone more perfect for them than their chosen other, had just made them work even harder to make their marriage work. They loved each other and they loved their girls and they loved the little life they had carved out of the world together, making them, overall, happy and content. 

They occasionally wondered- who wouldn’t? Even the strongest of souls would wonder about the life they could have had if they had just looked. But they were daydreams more often than not, brief wonderings that sometimes kept their minds busy while their bodies worked. But they were happy, content, and all they wanted was that for their oldest as well. 

“I think,” Herodutus said slowly when Hecuba finally nodded, “so long as we give her our support, our love, and keep entertaining her stories, she’ll be ok. She’s a strong girl- she’ll pull through. And maybe she’ll even be able to find happiness like we were. All we can do is try.” 

Hecuba nodded, leaned forward to kiss her husband, and went back to leaning against the wall. She wasn’t happy, that much was clear, but she agreed. 

It had to be done. 

For Gabrielle. 

*****

Gabrielle was thirteen when her parents, after breakfast, told her she was staying home for the day. No morning classes, no chores on the farm, just time spent with the two of them. 

Lila had argued and whined and cried when she had been kicked out, their mother scolding her into attending the little school house the local teacher had had built, saying the entire time just how it wasn’t fair Gabrielle didn’t have to go but she did. Neither parent had listened to her, instead turning their entire focus to their eldest child the moment the youngest was far enough way that they could no longer hear her angry pleas. Gabrielle, for her part, thought she might be sick and just hadn’t noticed it. Was she paler than usual? When Mother had leaned down to kiss her good morning, had she felt feverish? She felt fine, perfectly so, and if she wasn’t sick, then she was almost mad. 

She actually enjoyed school, enjoyed learning how to read and write and complete the complicated equations the teacher wrote on the board. And to miss a morning of classes would put her behind, something her parents knew of and knew she hated. 

So, for the half candle mark they just milled around, beating around the bush by asking her random questions about her friends and her studies, Gabrielle was confused and angry and a little bit scared. Because why? 

By the mark’s end, Gabrielle wished she had never forced them to speak, wished she had never obeyed them and stayed home, wished she had never awoken from the lovely dreams she had been having, because in that single mark’s time, it all ended. 

Her dreams for the future. The plans she had been so carefully crafting. The speech she had been preparing for the last six months, to be delivered in private once she found her soulmate. 

It all ended, because her soulmate was dead. 

“When you were young, only a child,” Herodutus began, “there was an illness. A terrible, horrible illness, one that swept through the village and the surrounding farms. 

“We, the four of us, were ok,” Hecuba quickly added, lest they scare the girl too badly. “Lila was sick for a bit, but nothing bad. Nothing you need to ever worry about, when it comes to us.” 

“Yes, yes, we were obviously fine,” Herodutus said, waving his wife off with a quick twirl of his hand. “And most of the other people who were affected were fine too. The winter had been mild, we had had a good harvest- no one’s quite sure, even today, why the illness spread. The only ones badly hurt by it were the very, very old.” 

“And some of the very, very young,” Gabrielle interrupted, stating the fact. Their teacher had gone over the details of the plague a few months ago, when they had been discussing the town’s history. Everyone know the symptoms, everyone knew about the forty-seven that had died- it was all common knowledge at this point. “What does this have to do with me?” 

“It’s about those who died, specifically the young,” Hecuba said softly, glancing at her husband out of the corner of her eye. As if waiting for permission, or the nod of support that came a moment later. Sighing softly, Hecuba reached out and grabbed Gabrielle’s hand, gently turning it so her wrist faced skyward, revealing the precious name Gabrielle kept so close to her heart. She said nothing more, just stared into Gabrielle’s eyes, hoping her daughter would understand what she was trying to say without making her really say it. 

She did, and in that moment of clarification, Gabrielle’s whole world came crashing down. 

“She was one of the children, wasn’t she,” Gabrielle asked, her voice a shaky whisper- the only sign of her feelings. Everything else was still, calm, as if she was holding her breath and just waiting for someone to deny her words. 

“The whole family died,” Herodutus cut in- he couldn’t look at Gabrielle while he spoke, but his words were still clear. “The mother had died in childbirth to the twins, the father had cut out of town, so it was the two girls and their grandparents. All four got sick, and this was long before the cure was found, so they just passed. The girls were a year or so older then you. We,” he added, pointing to himself and Hecuba, “had been in talks with the grandfather on when to introduce the two of you. Thought it might be wise for you two to grow up together. But, well…” 

It didn’t need to be said. It was obvious what he wanted to, but the words were unnecessary. 

But she still needed to see. 

“Take me to the graveyard.” 

Poteidaia’s graveyard, due to the nature of their little village, was small. A farming town, it needed all the space it could to grow crops and raise animals, and a sacred space like the final resting spot of so many had to be tiny. They burned the bodies, placed the ashes into earthen jars, and set them in the earth with just a small stone to mark their death beds. 

They still kept the customs, though, even with a small plot. Each stone had the owner’s name, their age if it was known, and the name inked on their wrist carved into it. So if any wanderers came looking, they could confirm for themselves the demise of the one they were searching for. 

It was a sad place, one Gabrielle had never been allowed to go to. Until now, nestled between her mother and father on the seat of their wagon, the donkey slowing to a halt before the gate that protected the plot from animals. 

It didn’t take long to find the stone she needed. As if they had been there before, memorizing the path they needed to take to get Gabrielle to the grave, Herodutus and Hecuba steered her right to a little group of five, off in a corner by themselves. 

The grandparents had been soulmates, Gabrielle noticed immediately, the smallest flutter of warmth seeping into her heart as she took in the matching names. It was if the stones themselves were overflowing with love and joy, excited for their owners to have had such a long, lovely life together. A rare thing, in the smaller villages- with travel so dangerous, and no real way to pay for the trips anyway, very few soulmates found each other. Those who did cherished their meeting, just glad to have found their other half when so many others were denied theirs. 

The other two stones were so much sadder because of it. Only four at the time of their passing, they would have been fourteen now. Just old enough to begin thinking about trying to find their own soulmates, making plans, scavenging together the odd dinar here and there- and neither of them would have had to spend a single one, Gabrielle realized, looking at the stone without the name she had been looking for. 

“Perdicas?”

The name of her best friend threw her- she hadn’t realized his own soulmate had passed as well. She wondered, briefly, if he knew, then quickly decided that he did. He was always quiet, never participating with the other children when they talked about their own soulmates, and always kept his wrist covered with a strip of black cloth. 

As if he was in mourning, Gabrielle realized, a flood of pity filling her for her best friend. Just like she would be too. 

“Yes,” Hecuba said softly, kneeling next to the stones and brushing a bit of grime away from them. “You and he would have been siblings, had your soulmates lived.” 

The odds of it astounded her. Two pairs of soulmates, born into the same village, only for both pairs to be parted long before they even knew- the Fates were cruel. 

A fact she was reminded of as she turned to the stone she had come out to see, tears filling her eyes and making it hard to read the names carved into the stone’s face. 

_Xena_. And underneath it, just as carefully put as the name above, _Gabrielle._

It was Hecuba who led Gabrielle from the graveyard, her arms tight around her daughter to keep her from tripping over the stones. Hecuba who tried to calm the tears freely flowing down her child’s cheeks, whispering as comforting words as she could find while they walked. As if scared to be near them, Herodutus trailed behind, only climbing into the seat of the cart when Gabrielle and Hecuba settled themselves onto a pile of sacks in the cart bed. 

Gabrielle was in no condition to sit up, so she spend the entire ride home curled into her mother’s lap, crying herself almost to sickness as the reality of her life struck her. 

Herodutus took her into his arms when they reached home, cradling her against his chest while Hecuba ran ahead to open the doors. It took him mere minutes to get Gabrielle into the room she shared with Lila, though it felt like days- her entire body shook in his grasp, harder even when she had caught the Cough when she was ten, and then she had coughed so hard she had bruised her chest, almost breaking her ribs. 

It terrified him, and all he could do was settle her in bed, kiss her forehead, and leave. 

Even though sleep was demanding her to obey, to sink into its depths lest she destroyed herself with her sorrow, Gabrielle fought. Just for a moment- what she needed to do wouldn’t take long, but she had to do it. Pushing herself out of bed, lightheaded and dizzy, she stumbled to the trunk where she and Lila kept their nice clothes, packed away with herbs and spices to keep bugs from attacking the fine fibers. Opening it up, almost choking on the smell, Gabrielle pushed aside outfit after outfit until she found the one she wanted- the dress Lila had worn to their grandfather’s funeral pyre, when she had just been an infant. It no longer fit, and while Mother had been talking about turning it into something else for a long while now, Gabrielle had other ideas. 

She used her teeth, jerking her head back again and again until the cloth finally ripped, a long strip tearing itself away from the rest in her teeth. Fighting back sobs so she could keep her hand steady, it was with eyes too filled with tears to even read the name one last time that she tied the cloth around her wrist. 

Her soulmate was dead, and she was in mourning. 

*****

It was hours before Gabrielle finally fell asleep. Hours Hecuba had carefully marked, her eyes never leaving the candles that slowly burnt themselves past the lines she used to measure time. Hours filled with hiccupping sobs and retching as Gabrielle cried herself to sickness, the shock too much for her poor system. 

Hecuba herself cried as well. Her poor, sweet girl. If only the Fates had given her a different soulmate, one that wasn’t a monster, it would be ok. Gabrielle didn’t deserve this pain, but because of who her other half was, she had it. 

Hecuba hated the warlord even more, and hated herself for the part she had to play in this charade. 

“Did you put the right stone back,” she asked Herodutus as he returned, not looking away from the candle. It was hard to face him; she had been a willing participant in all of this, yes, but it had been his idea to break their daughter. 

“Yes. I returned Gwen’s stone to its rightful place, and threw the fake one into the river. Just like we planned.” 

He sat down heavily next to her, his own head falling into his hands. She could feel his guilt, his own sorrow, his anger- he hated this just as much as she did. 

“How is she?” 

“She just fell asleep half a mark ago,” she said, giving a little shrug. “As for how she is? I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out.” 

“This is for the best,” Herodutus said once again, one hand falling, palm up, to the table. When, a moment later, Hecuba took it, intertwining their fingers, he nodded once again. “You asked me how I knew the warlord was Gabrielle’s Xena. I can’t explain it, but I just know. And as she is now, she’ll kill our little girl. She will, I just know it. But this will keep her safe. It’ll be ok, in the end, so long as she’s safe and alive.” 

Hecuba didn’t respond. There was no need to- he was right. As parents, it was their duty to make sure their daughter, both of their daughters, were ok. And if breaking their hearts was how they had to go about keeping them alive, she would do it. 

But it still hurt. 

“In a year or so we can bring up the idea of getting married to Perdicas,” Herodutus said softly, rubbing at his eyes. “The line about them being siblings was a good one. It won’t be hard to convince her that husband and wife is better than no relation at all. And they can mourn together. It’ll be good for them. We can bring it up in a year. She’ll be okay with the idea by then.” 

Hecuba almost replied, but the sound of Gabrielle waking up, only to burst back into tears, kept her from saying anything. Instead, all she could do was bow her head and pray to whoever was listening that he would be right. 

That, in time, their little girl would be okay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this took so long to get to you. I actually finished writing it a while ago, but then I graduated from college (yay! :D) and went traveling to see some family, so this is the first time I've have the time and stable enough internet to post this. But, the final chapter of 'Your Name Written On My Wrist' is complete and here! I hope you all enjoy it- I had a ton of fun writing it.

After everything- after Hercules, after the gauntlet her men forced her to walk, after all the death and fighting and war, Xena was tired. 

Tired of killing for no cause other than personal gain. Tired of chasing a destiny that she never seemed able to fulfill. Tired of the fear, the anger, the hate and the rage. Tired of slaughtering people like sheep, watching her own men be killed time after time in useless battles that lost almost as much as they won. 

Xena was just tired. And with the path Hercules had pointed out stretching long before her, it seemed like it would be a long time before she rested. But at least that path, one where she fought for the good of others instead of her own personal gain, monetary or otherwise, had a light at the end of the tunnel. It would be hard and it would be long and full of darkness, but it was a path she could walk. 

If she could get her toes on it, that is. That first step was the hardest, but most necessary of them all. 

She tried to shed her past, burying the leathers and weapons that had been her constant companions for so long. But the moment she finished stamping down the dirt, they arrived. 

Although she had only dabbled in the slave trade- just overall a disgusting thing, but occasionally one necessary to keep her men fed and from turning against her (earlier then they eventually did)- she recognized immediately the worth of the girls. While she herself had only ever sold the men that had survived standing up to her, the girls gathered together were worth a hefty price. Young, most of them pretty, presumably virgins since the smaller villages seemed to care about that status more than the cities. Each one worth a decent sized bag of dinars at a slave market. 

If they ever got there. 

She didn’t catch the name of the girl who stood up to the slavers, nor could she even really see her- hidden as she was in the bushes, with the group of girls blocked by the men trying to round them up, Xena’s line of sight was limited at best, almost non-existent when some of the men shuffled around their prey. 

But she did see the whip as it was placed into the man’s hand, watched as it uncoiled in a familiar way that made her stomach turn, and she had to step in. Even without her armor, her weapons, wearing nothing but her cloth shift, she had to. The fight wasn’t hard- the men weren’t used to resistance, and hadn’t been expecting it from a woman of all people. Even when the others turned away from the group of girls they were trying to kidnap and towards her, theoretically putting her at a great disadvantage, she still won. 

She was Xena, and Warrior Princess or not, Destroyer of Nations or not, she wasn’t about to let a band of boys playing at being men beat her. And she wasn’t going to let them take the girls while she was at it. 

Back and forwards she fought, splitting her attention between the men coming right at her and those trying to corral the girls out of sight- in their own way the girls were impressive. Some of them were holding their own, striking out with inefficient punches and smacks that still took their captor’s attention, even if it didn’t hurt them. The one in the blue blouse, the same one who had stood up to them, offering herself in the other’s places, was especially so, using her small form and quick movements to break free of one’s grasp after Xena hit him with the spear to kick him in the face. 

She lost sight of the girl when one of the men managed to knock her down, unknowingly letting her fall right on top of where she had just finished burying her weapons. From there it was a child’s game- with her sword and chakram in hand, the rest of them quickly fell before her, soon run off by the village men who had joined them. 

She sent her message to Draco, watched as the leader of the little band of slavers quivered before her, then let him leave, sure he would deliver her words promptly. 

She stayed, for a little bit, watching as the villagers gathered together their people, tending to the few wounds their own had accumulated in the fight. A few came up to her, thanking her for her help, though most stayed aware, clearly wary of her. Not that she could blame them- she had seen the fear flicker in their eyes when she had said her name, and combined with her fighting skills, she was sure most, if not all, of them knew who she was. 

So when most of them were gone, she dug up her armor and turned to leave. She had to get far away from these people, as fast as she could. It wouldn’t be long before Draco knew where she was, and he would stop at nothing to try and kill her. Or own her. Or both. She really didn’t know which, and she really didn’t care to find out. 

But to stay would put the people she had just helped in more danger, and even though she had only just started on her path to the redemption Hercules had promised her, she had enough compassion in her to not want that. 

“Wait.” 

Xena froze at the girl’s voice, the same voice that had stood up to the slavers when they had first arrived. The girl in the blue blouse, whose bravery had momentarily distracted Xena in the fight.

Part of her told her to turn around, to at least get a face to go along with the voice and the brave actions. But Xena remained still- she knew what she would see in the girl’s eyes, the same look she had seen in almost every pair that knew her. Anger, hate, fear- knowing what was coming, Xena stayed still, facing away from the girl, instead focusing on returning her greaves to her forearms, where they belonged. 

For a moment she paused, looking at the name she hadn’t considered in so long, before retying the laces that once again covered it. 

“Wait, please,” the girl said again when Xena took another step, assuming she would say no more. “Your name-“ 

“Is Xena,” Xena said, half turning towards the girl- the teenager, Xena amended, for the girl couldn’t have been more than seventeen, eighteen at the most. “You might also know me as the Warrior Princess, Destroyer of Nations, or, one of my favorites from the good old days, The Conqueror. Take your pick.” 

She was hoping the girl would be satisfied with her answer, would leave now that she knew she had been saved from slavery by the terrible ex-warlord. They all did, when they found out who she was- fled, drove her out, tried to find some way to kill her (though those people never got far). Xena was used to it, and the quicker this girl did the exact same thing, the better. 

But she didn’t. Instead the girl stepped closer, so only a few feet were between them, and spoke again. 

“Please. Xena. Look at me.” 

So she did. She didn’t know why- perhaps it was the slight quiver in the girl’s voice, the hint of desperation, but she did. She turned around and took in the girl standing before her- nice shape from what she could see in the way the blue blouse and tan skirt fell; a black strip of cloth tied around her wrist, covering the name that should have been there; reddish gold hair that hung thickly around her shoulders; a pretty, almost beautiful face, if it weren’t for the current stress lines, and her eyes-

The moment their eyes met, it was like she had been thrown into the center of Hephaestus’ forge, stabbed through the gut with Ares’ own sword, impaled with Artemis and Athena’s golden and silver arrows, trampled by Apollo’s chariot, and zapped by Zeus’ great lightning bolt all at the same time. It was as if a fire seared through her blood and bones, tearing a pained gasp from her lips, and the only one who could put it out, who could end her suffering, was the girl standing before her. 

“They told me you were dead, that you had died when we were young. There was a tomb stone and a grave and I cried for you and I was so sure you were gone. And then they arranged a marriage with my best friend but I don’t want to marry him, I only ever even considered it because I thought you were dead and-“ 

She was babbling, the words falling unheard from her mouth as Xena took the steps forward to close the gap, stopping with only a hair’s width between them. She waited for the words to stop, then laughed when they didn’t, one hand rising to brush against her cheek. Bending over- she was short, a whole head shorter than her, but Xena couldn’t care- Xena stopped with their noses brushing, using every ounce of self-control that she had to do so. 

So close, she wondered how she ever could have hated her. How she ever could have allowed her heart to be turned away from her other half, when everything suddenly felt so right. How she ever could have considered taking a sword to this girl, when the _thought_ of harming her broke her heart. A thousand thoughts spinning through her mind, Xena forced them all to quiet, so she could focus on the girl before her. 

Whispering her name soft as a prayer, Xena closed the gap between them and kissed Gabrielle, finally allowing their souls to become one. 

(Later she would try to leave Gabrielle at home- it was dangerous with her, especially for such a young, innocent girl. And just knowing that her soulmate was alive and well would have been enough, even if the pain of leaving her felt almost fatal. But Gabrielle would follow. 

“If you think I’m losing you now, just after I found you, after I’ve thought you’ve been dead for the last four years, then you’re more insane then the rumors make you out to be.” 

And Lao Ma would turn out to be right- before long, Gabrielle was Xena’s source, her light, her best friend, her reason for waking up every morning, just so she could do the good she needed to do to be worthy of her. She had too many sins to pay for, so many crimes to make right, but with Gabrielle besides her, helping her, keeping her walking that narrow path between her light and dark to reach the end of that very long road, Xena knew she could do it. 

And each night, lying in their bed rolls, staring at the stars above, trying to get each other to see the shapes the heavens had made for them, Xena would hold out her hand for Gabrielle to take, intertwining their fingers to hold her tight. 

“I’m glad,” Xena would say one night, many years after they first met, “that it was your name written on my wrist. I love you, Gabrielle.” 

“I love you too, Xena.” 

And just like every other night, since the first they had found each other, they would sleep in each other’s arms, their souls at peace for having found their other half.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so. A couple of people have asked me how the whole soulmate thing would change the series. And honestly, it wouldn't, not by much. You all remember those 'guy of the week' mini-romances Gabrielle had every single episode in season 1? Yeah, those would just be friendships. She also never would have married Perdicus. They still would have met up, and Gabrielle still probably would have split from Xena because of him, but it would have been more of a "He was my best friend growing up, and we thought for years we would have been siblings because we believed our soulmates were sisters, and now he's hurting and I can help stop his pain. So I'm taking him home and helping him cope" kind of deal instead of "He proposed and now I'm magically in love despite hating him before I left with you because he now needs me and the sex was good" (In case you can't tell, I'm slightly bitter. Jk, but they still could have handled that better). Perdicus would still die by Callisto's hand, and pretty much everything else for the rest of the series, except the little side romances that popped up every once in a while, would be the same. We would just get the Warrior Bard ship right out from season 1 instead of later. 
> 
> But yeah. I hope you guys all enjoyed this little series! I had fun writing it.


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